


Sing You a Happy Tune

by bookwyrmling



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon-typical Alcohol Consumption, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-03 19:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8727283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwyrmling/pseuds/bookwyrmling
Summary: Between navigating finals, games, other life commitments and keeping their relationship secret, Bitty, Jack and Kent prepare to see each other for a few days during the holiday season.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [PBJ_EpiFest_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PBJ_EpiFest_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Song/Artist: Hiding Tonight by Alex Turner
> 
> Prompt Details: They aren't quite out yet, but they're still feeling great.
> 
> Additional Info: Angst is fine but idk if it fits... depends on your interpretation of the song I guess?  
> some lines:  
> "I'll know the way back, if you know the way  
> But if you are, I am quite alright, hiding today"  
> "Tomorrow I'll be stronger, running colorful  
> No longer just in black and white  
> And I'm quite alright hiding tonight"

With a calming sigh, Eric Bittle opened his eyes and stared at the paper on the desk in front of him before letting out a groan and dropping his forehead down on top of it. He should be baking; baking or packing or catching Jack before his game day nap or talking Kent out of buying a whole new suit for his fundraiser tonight because, “We just decided on the gunmetal Saint Laurent with the sage silk tie last night, remember? Besides, there’s no time for you to get anything tailored anymore and you know ready-made never fits you the way it should.” He definitely did not want to be stuck in Gregory taking a final exam in Statistical Analysis in Sociology.

And yet that was exactly where he sat now and where he would remain until he either finished the last few questions or time ran out because, after all the help Chowder and Dex had given him with program shortcuts for his final project and multivariate reviews for the exam, he had promised them he wouldn’t just give up.

He really should never have made that promise.

Raising his gaze to check the clock, Bitty’s eyes met with the unimpressed stare of his professor and he flushed in embarrassment before lifting his head back up off the desk and looking at the next question on the exam.

_Discuss technical issues regarding the use of the qualitative variables X5 or X8 as a predictor variable in this problem._

Flipping back one page, Bitty forced his eyes to focus on the data tables referenced, staring at them for three minutes before realizing his brain was checking through the ingredients he still had back at the Haus, confirming if he had enough stock to make the boys a few celebratory pies to shush their constant questions and chirps over the DO NOT TOUCH written all over the stash of mini pies and cookies in the fridge and in his room.

“Fifteen minutes,” Professor Cosentino announced from her desk, “You should be on the last problem set or wrapping up your final essay response.”

Bitty’s stomach clenched and he thumbed through the last two pages of the exam packet, glad, at least, that he had written his two essay responses before throwing himself to the mercy of the problem sets.

He finished the second to last problem set by sheer force of very weak will spurred on by the sound of the classroom’s door opening and closing at more regular intervals as the number of students still seated dwindled. Rubbing at his eyes, Bitty blinked and looked around the classroom only to find no more than a handful of classmates left -- a couple of them also looking around. Bitty made eye contact with one and there was a shared moment of misery and fear until she groaned and threw her hands into her hair. The professor cleared her throat, drawing Bitty’s attention before tapping the desk in front of her as a reminder to keep his eyes on his own paper.

Bitty’s shoulders deflated as he turned the page to the data for the final problem set. He was half-way through it when time ran out.

“Pencils down. You have until I leave to get your exams handed in,” Professor Cosentino announced and began gathering her belongings, “The moment I hit the door, any others are an automatic zero.” There was a sudden rush of the remaining students as they gathered around the teaching podium, while one or two more bent even further over their desks, using the remaining seconds to finish even one more sentence or equation.

Bitty looked down at his paper and, incomplete as it was, let out a sigh of relief as he tossed his pencil back into its case in his backpack. He was done.

He felt a grin tug at his lips as his stomach swooped with the realization.

He was...done. He was done. He was done!

Standing from his seat, Bitty threw on his backpack, grabbed his exam and only barely managed to make it down to where his professor was grabbing her green travel mug without skipping.

“That glad to be done with my class, or did you do that well, Bittle?” the professor asked with a laugh at his fist pump when she took the proffered papers. Bitty flushed and his gaze ran to the wall.

“I think I’ll leave the grading to you, Professor,” he replied and she laughed as he turned away.

“Enjoy your plans over break, Bittle.”

He practically jogged the rest of the way out of the room and building, but paused to pull on his touchscreen gloves and pull out his phone. Bitty could feel his smile stretching across his entire face and decided he did not care who else saw it as he sent a text.

**24 hrs <3**

Jack Zimmermann looked up from his phone screen at the sudden, heavy smack of a hand against his back.

“Good luck text from girlfriend, Zimmboni?”

Jack turned off the screen and turned it upside down on his leg, his soft smile slipping into surprise as he turned to stare up at Tater who was grinning down at him.

“Hide so quickly. I’m think more than just luck in text, yes?” he winked and Jack flushed at the implication.

“Nothing like that,” he denied, his cheeks and the tips of his ears stained with embarrassment.

“Is okay. Gets blood pumping,” Tater winked.

“We’re getting ready for a game, Tater,” Jack replied as he tightened the laces on his skates to give his fidgeting hands something to focus on, “Pretty sure my blood is pumped enough.”

It always got difficult when Tater brought up his “girlfriend.” Jack found that so long as the boys thought he did have one, they chirped him about “her” but at least they didn’t try to set him up with girls that became more and more outrageously forward. At the same time, he was never sure how to respond because he did not have a girlfriend and he did not want to pretend he had a girlfriend -- not when his two boyfriends were perfect as they were. But explaining to a professional hockey team that he did not have a girlfriend because he was in a relationship with two men was not high on his priority list, even if the team was an open and welcoming one. It meant, generally, that Jack just remained silent until he could escape or someone redirected the conversation.

“Leave him alone, Tater Tot,” Snowy jibed as he walked up to the two, half-way into his gear and threw his arm as well as he could over the hulking Russian’s shoulders. Jack had almost made it through his sigh of relief when he looked Snowy right in the eyes and caught the full force of his leer, “Can’t keep her a secret forever.”

“But why keep secret such good cook?”

Snowy shrugged. “Who knows, man. Maybe he realizes she’d drop him as soon as she saw the rest of us good-looking fuckers who’d be happy to show her off.”

And then Jack grinned, because he could reply to this one. Thank you, Snowy! Eyeing the locker room and seeing the attention the three of them had been gathering he smirked and called out, “I think I’m safe on that count.”

The results were instantaneous.

“Fucker!”

“It’s not all about the baby blues, Zimmboni!”

“Should we pull out the baby pics again?!”

Jack laughed as he held his arm up to protect himself from the sudden influx of stick tape and gloves being thrown his way.

“Alright, guys, let’s save the gossip for when we’re not due out on the ice? Heads in the game!”

“Yes, Coach,” the locker room sounded out as Jack began to pick up and toss rolls of tape and padded gloves back to their owners. Tater and Snowy left to finish their own prep and Jack took the time when everyone’s attention was elsewhere to tap out a quick text before putting his phone away.

He was still smiling to himself when they all crowded in the hall just off the ice, which was likely why Tater decided to come back up to him, throw an arm over his shoulder and ask, in a staged whisper, “This why you say you not come to holiday party?”

“Tater,” Jack moaned into his glove only to have the Russian shrug his shoulders.

“What?” he asked in false innocence, “I not ask for name.”

No, but he was still fishing and, momentarily, the thought of just admitting the truth to see Tater’s reaction and just be done with all this hiding flashed across Jack’s mind but then the music outside changed and Jack’s attention slipped to the bright white of the ice and the lights.

“I’m visiting friends out of state,” Jack said instead and grinned at Tater’s annoyed face as he stepped out of the narrow tunnel and into the bright white of the rink.

**24 hrs <3  
Bitty**

**20 hours**

Kent Parson looked around the Venetian’s lavish ballroom as he stepped through the door. The chandeliers sparkled in the soft light–made to look as natural as possible–and large floral arrangements decorated each table. A full sized ice sculpture of an angel referenced both the holiday season and the purpose of the event and two large trees bracketed the entrance. They were real by the pine scent Kent picked up as he walked past one.

Kent closed his eyes and took another deep inhale, allowing memories of snow and lit fireplaces and hot chocolate with spices and homemade marshmallows to filter in when the room he stood in was maintained at a comfortable 72 degrees and outside was a locally seasonable 53. He held on to the smell, though, and remembered growing up in New York and missing his mom in Rimouski. He could picture the pine that blanketed the northeastern United States and Canada and remembered the property boundary at the Zimmermann’s right behind the pond he and Zimms would play shinny on. Most of all, his thoughts drifted to Rhode Island and Massachusetts. Kent smiled. Western conference games and sheer exhaustion kept him from celebrating the holiday with his family in New York, but a shiver of anticipation rushed up his spine at the thought of tomorrow.

His fingers slipped into his pocket to trace the edges of his phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and smiled down at the lock screen, but, before he could open his texts, a pair of professionally shined, patent leather Oxfords popped into view.

“Mr. Parson, we are so glad you could make it.”

“Dino,” Kent greeted with a smile as he shoved his phone back to the bottom of his pocket before reaching out for a handshake, “And what have I told you? It’s Kent, please.”

“You’re here as a donor tonight, not a volunteer,” the large man replied with a jovial laugh as his hand clapped against Kent’s in a familiar greeting.

“You’re doing good work,” Kent shrugged, “Of course I’m going to support the program however I can.”

“Well, you certainly do your fair share. The kids look forward to each of your visits. A couple of the older ones have actually started meeting up to play twice a week. The basketball courts turn into hockey madness on a regular basis now.”

Kent laughed and followed Dino’s lead as the older man walked them both over to one of the tables where his wife, Rosie, stood to join them.

“I notice you seem to be missing a date tonight,” Dino queried, his arm wrapping around the waist of his wife.

“Yeah, well, my sister had finals and my mom hates flying, so…” Kent shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck instead of his hair–he had finally gotten the cowlick to lay flat and there was no way he was pushing his luck with it any further.

“And not a single girl to ask in Vegas, besides?” Dino ribbed and Kent laughed.

“I should’ve brought, like, Maggie and watched her charm everyone here,” he shot back, picturing the precocious twelve year-old that spent her afternoons and weekends at the Drop-In Center. She always asked to see pictures of Kit and was the most promising D-man in the pick-up street hockey games Kent ran every other week.

“Leave us some of our work to do, please,” Rosie laughed before her eyes went wide and she looked to the table. “That’s right, Maggie wanted to make sure you got this,” she added, holding out an envelope.

Kent accepted it with a confused frown. “I’ll be there next week still,” he pointed out but slipped one of his fingers under the flap to tear it open.

“Maggie won’t be,” Dino supplied and Kent almost dropped the envelope in shock.

“What?” Kent asked, his shoulders tensing in concern even has he took in the smiles on both of the directors’ faces.

“The paperwork went through last week,” Rosie admitted with a small hop.

“Her aunt and uncle wanted her with them before the holidays,” Dino added, “She flies out to Ohio in the morning.”

“Wh- Th- Shit, that’s amazing,” Kent stumbled through his surprise into a smile and a laugh. He would miss her, of course, but it was good to see her get out of a bad situation and into a better one. His eyes dropped to the envelope in his hand and the paper crinkled and the flap tore a bit under the pressure of his thumb.

“You should have heard her, though,” Rosie laughed, as well, shaking her head and drawing Kent’s attention once more, “Said she would only go if she could watch the Aces games out there. You’ve really had a strong effect on her, Kent. You’ve helped a lot of the kids.”

“It’s just hockey,” Kent demurred. The heavy lifting was done by the social workers and caregivers, the ones who were there with the kids on a daily basis, not coaching them for a handful of hours a month.

“It’s more than that for the kids,” Rosie pressed with a soft smile, but knew to press no further. Instead, Dino picked up three drinks he had apparently signaled for earlier and passed them around to the group.

“You enjoy yourself tonight, Kent,” he said as he lifted his glass in an informal toast, “Rosie and I have to get to work. The expansion won’t pay for itself.”

Kent laughed and raised his, as well. “Make these guys dig deep,” he said as they wandered off.

“Next time, we hope to see you with someone special,” Rosie said with a small nod of her head in parting and Kent snorted.

“Me, too,” he replied fondly, even if she was too far to hear.

At the thought, he pulled his phone back out and sent a quick text before shoving it away for the rest of the evening along with the envelope from Maggie.

Taking a quick whiff of the drink -- something with gin because he could smell the juniper -- Kent smiled in Dino and Rosie’s direction, where they were now schmoozing with older donors to their youth program, Kent raised his glass in their direction once more before taking a drink.

**24 hrs <3  
B<3**

**20 hours.  
Z <3**

**16hrs  
cant wait**

The tub juice burned at his throat as he drank it down, but the sweetness of the liqueurs masked most of the deadly cocktail’s tang and Bitty licked his lips as he brought the red solo cup back down from his mouth. Music thrummed through the Haus and bodies packed tight together through every room on the first floor and spilling out into the yards -- both front and back.

A cheer rang out from the direction of the beer pong set-up and Bitty knew Lardo must have destroyed another competitor in her domain. He smiled faintly, refusing to acknowledge the tickle in the back of his mind reminding him this was her and Ransom and Holster’s last Epikegster.

He finished up the cup to drown the itch and then left it empty on a tabletop before working his way back onto the dance floor. Jack couldn’t be with him, of course, and Kent was likely just getting home from his fundraiser–the thought of Kent, with the flush of alcohol on his cheeks, his hair a mess because he forgot to stop running his hands through it after his third drink, his suit rumpled, necktie loose, had Bitty biting his bottom lip and gyrating his hips to Nicki Minaj until the sound of his name broke him out of his drunken revelry.

“Yes, Tango?” Bitty asked at the worried look on the tadpole’s flushed face.

“Bitty, have you seen Nursey?”

“Oh, sweetheart, who put you on patrol?” Bitty asked fondly before he, too, began to look for the missing frog.

“Lardo was pulling Dex in for a game and asked me to keep an eye on him for one round,” Tango admitted, “I went to get him water and left him sitting in a corner, but-”

Bitty nodded in understanding. A drunk Nursey was problematic, at best. He could go from unable to sit up straight to attempting a backflip off the reading room in less than the time it took to cross one of the crowded rooms.

Spotting Chowder and Farmer also dancing on the floor, Bitty dragged Tango with him, hating to break into their personal space, but also knowing as well as anyone on the team that Nursey needed to be located. Bitty had already gotten one call from the Student Health Center this semester as the boy’s emergency contact and he would prefer not to get another one.

“Bitty!” Chowder cried in excitement the moment he saw the junior draw near, his ecstatic and alcohol-flushed smile dropping into immediate concern at the frown on Bitty’s own face. “What happened?”

“Chowder, have you seen Nursey in the last few minutes?”

“Oh, no! Did Nursey get loose?”

Bitty immediately held his hands up to keep Chowder from running off. “It’s fine for now, we’re just trying to see if we can track him down,” he calmed, “If you haven’t seen him, then don’t worry about it, either of-”

A loud crash sounded in the hallway and all four faces in the group paled as they looked in that direction.

“Well, Tango, I think you found him,” Bitty bit at his lip as he shooed the tadpole off. “Come get me if it’s anything serious, otherwise just try to keep him from making that sound again.”

“Tango’s on Nurse Patrol?” Caitlin asked, her eyebrows furrowed in concern as she watched Tango walk off, the glass of water still firmly clutched in his hands.

“For the time being,” Bitty nodded through his own concern.

“Are we sure that’s even safe?” Chowder asked and Bitty sighed.

“I honestly have no idea,” he admitted with a shrug, “but I guess we’ll find out.”

Turning back to the two, Bitty smiled apologetically, “Anyway, I’ll let you two get back to dancing. Have fun.”

“Oh, no, Bitty, you should dance with us,” Caitlin interjected.

Chowder lit up at the idea, but did not get to add his approval in before two heavy arms threw themselves over Bitty’s shoulders.

“Bro, we’ve been looking for you all night!”

“Ransom! Holster!” Bitty shouted his complaint as he began to bow under their combined drunken weight.

“You completely bailed on the team for Screw, bro,” Holster continued to shift the bulk of his weight onto Bitty’s shoulders.

“We had a good date for you picked out and everything,” Ransom added, “So we decided, out of the good of our hearts, to make sure he came tonight!”

“What?” Bitty interjected, finally slipping out from their hold and turning on a dime -- almost losing his feet in doing so -- to stare at them with wide eyes. “You did not.” He had skipped Screw for a reason: the Aces had been in Providence to play the Falconers and Bitty had spent the night with both his boys. Skipping out on Ransom and Holster’s “perfect date” had only been a side benefit. Bitty had figured they would drop it after, not bring the guy back around to a kegster.

“He’s an exchange student from Australia, bro,” Ransom said, ignoring Bitty’s obvious displeasure.

“He’s got the accent and crazy tan and everything, Bits,” Holster continued. They each took turns sharing the basics after that, but Bitty could not find it in himself to listen.

“I’m not interested in meeting him,” Bitty argued as he left the dance floor, suddenly feeling more tired than he had realized. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket while the two co-captains continued to argue their case and fired off a quick text when he noticed the time.

“Just stay here; we’ll bring him, okay?” Justin pleaded as he and Holster went off in search for Bitty’s elusive screw date.

Bitty watched them go, biting his lip until Holster’s laurel wreath and Ransom’s white cap ducked out of sight before making his escape. Despite the crowd and his own drunken stumbling as the tub juice and beer combination finally hit him in its fullest force, Bitty managed to make it up the steps and into his room -- immediately locking the door behind him -- in a relatively timely manner. And, he was certain, without Holster or Ransom seeing his escape. Hopefully they’d spend the rest of the night continuing to hunt for him amongst the other partygoers.

Leaving his lights off, Bitty tore off his shirt and shorts and dove into bed before shoving his feet off the side to touch the floor and stop the immediate spinning his upending had given him. Pulling his heavy blankets over his torso and face, Bitty closed his eyes and smiled a happy but tired smile, knowing it would not take him long to fall asleep at all.

**24 hrs <3**

**20 hours  
Jack Zimmermann**

**16 hrs  
** **cant wait  
Kent Parson**

**1w jazz  
** **hrs  
** **1w  
** **12  
** **Stupid autopsies  
autocorrect**

Jack’s eyes slammed open the moment his alarm sounded. He groaned and rubbed at them as he rolled over and reached out to turn the alarm off before immediately pushing himself out of bed. The coffee would already be brewed in the kitchen thanks to the scheduled percolator, and Jack yawned, stretching his arms over his head and scrunching his toes into the rug before reaching into his second to the top drawer and pulling out a pair of jogging pants. He rolled his spine, grunting as it popped and crackled, stalking down the hall lit only by the streetlights and moon.

It was only once he had poured himself a cup of coffee that he slipped the pants on over chilled flesh. Ignoring the way it burned his mouth, Jack downed the beverage, setting the mug in the sink and filling it with water.

This time of year, it was still pitch black outside in the early morning, sunrise and dawn’s light still over an hour away even with a clear sky. Even without snow, there was a constant, crunching layer of frost on the ground that had Jack wearing his yellow trainers for both their visibility in the dark and their traction.

Jack took in a deep breath, letting the cold air burn his lungs as he tugged at his leg to stretch his quads. He released his hold as he exhaled a steamy cloud. It was only once his feet were hitting the pavement at regular intervals, however, that he finally felt his body begin to wake up.

Autopilot kicked into gear as Jack focused on stride, pace and breath, his feet taking him along his usual route to the East Bay Bike Path, across the river and into Blackstone Park and Boulevard. It was mindless work, a rote pattern. The tension he so often woke with in his chest faded at the rush of familiar turns and scenery. There was optional skate in the afternoon and today would normally be the kind of day where he would stop for pictures at Swan Point, but his phone alarm went off just as he had reached its gates, telling the man it was time to turn around and head home.

He smiled as he turned off the alarm and turned around. He had a flight to catch.

While Jack was fully packed and ready to go, he was flying out of Boston, not Providence, and would be picking Bitty up along the way. Taking traffic into account–and the fact that Bitty’s drunk text from last night meant he’d probably sleep in after having left packing to the last moment–Jack would have to hit the road right after jumping into a quick shower the moment he got home.

Remembering the text, Jack shook his head and laughed, pausing in his run at the Waterfront to pull out his phone and fire off a quick text of his own, even if the other two were dead to the world. Light was starting to filter into the world now, though the street lamps remained lit. Stars began to fade in the sky and the moon was hanging low on the horizon behind some of the highrises whose glass windows were beginning to reflect streaks of red and gold.

Jack held up his phone and snapped a picture of the sight and was about to text it to Bitty and Kent when he heard small footsteps shuffle up behind him.

“Are you Jack Zimmermann?”

“Jamie, leave the man alone! I’m so sorry, sir,” a woman who was likely the boy’s mother called out as she ran up to them.

Jack smiled as he looked back down at the boy and nodded his head. “I am. Do you like hockey?”

The kid’s smile grew and he shook his head. “I’m on a mites team.”

“That’s awesome!” Jack replied, “Are you on your way to practice?”

The boy’s shoulders drooped and his excited smile fell into a pout. “No. Mom has work so I’m going to daycare,” he complained with a long-suffering roll of his head and eyes.

“Hey, be nice to your mom,” Jack laughed as he crouched down to be more on his level, “Hockey moms are always worrying about their kids. My mom calls me all the time still to make sure I’m okay.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Jack admitted with a conspiratorial whisper. The child’s mother had joined the two by that point, standing nearby and listening in with a small smile and Jack nodded at her again in recognition before adding, “She worries about me being hurt.”

“Mom doesn’t like talking about hockey at all. She says it’s too violent,” the boy continued with understanding until his face dropped into a shadow, “Dad asked whenever he could call, though.”

Jack’s face fell at the sudden change in attitude and the concerned, “Jamie,” the woman whispered as she drew up and placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. Jack followed the motion and caught sight of the boy–Jamie–playing with a pair of tags around his neck.

Jack sighed and his brow furrowed in understanding. “Jamie?” he asked to grab the boy’s attention, “Is that your name?”

Jamie nodded but his attention remained on the tags.

“Are those your dad’s tags?” he asked next and Jamie nodded again.

“Six months ago,” Jaie’s mother added as she stroked her son’s hair.

Jack sent her a sympathetic look before turning back to the boy and asking one more question, “Hey, Jamie. Do you know Kent Parson?”

That question seemed to grab the boy’s interest as his face shot up with an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Who doesn’t know Kent Parson?” he asked with a huff, “He owns the Aces record book and he’s won the Calder, the Stanley Cup in his rookie year, was the youngest captain until McDavid this year, has the longest points streak on record for any American and has two Art Rosses.”

Jack laughed and watched in awe as this kid spouted off facts like he had the list in front of him, but nodded at each point, remembering when he was Jamie’s age and would happily do the same given the opportunity. “He’s pretty good, eh?”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “He’s more than pretty good.”

Jack had to agree with Jamie’s judgment and his smile softened and warmed at the thought of the man and how he would be seeing him–holding him–in mere hours. “Did you know Kent Parson wears his dad’s tags, too?” he asked, placing his thoughts firmly in the present.

Jamie’s surprise was not actually much of a surprise. While the information was out there, it was not something Kent talked about regularly–mostly because he’d been too young during the Gulf War to remember his father now. It was something that had affected him, though, as he’d faced constant reminders throughout his childhood to be the man of the house and fill the shoes of this person he did not know. His mother had expressed her dislike of the phrasing to Jack on one occasion where the topic had come up. She had only ever wanted her son to be the kid he was, just as Aimee, who had been born a month after the funeral, had been allowed.

“He grew up with just his mom and his sister,” Jack explained carefully, “They worked really really hard so he could keep playing hockey and now, like you said, everybody knows him.” Jack eyed Jamie’s mother, watching for signs that he was stepping on toes or over lines he did not want to touch, as he continued, “I’m sure your mom knows exactly how important hockey is to you and is working hard so that you can keep playing.”

Jamie looked back at his mother at worried his bottom lip before nodding his head and muttering, “Yeah…”

“So do you know what your job is?”

Jack heard the sharp intake of air and saw her shoulders immediately tense and he tried to smile encouragingly at her because he remembered that pinched face of disapproval on a middle-aged blonde ten years ago.

Jamie’s dropped shoulders and, “I gotta help her and be the man of the house,” suggested just as much emotional turmoil and anxiety as Kent had expressed. Jack smiled at the boy before reaching up and patting his shoulder.

“While I’m sure your mom definitely would like help with things like keeping your room clean and making sure you do all your homework and eat all your veggies without her asking,” he began, “I think she also wants to make sure you have tons of fun playing hockey.” The woman’s sigh of relief loosed the knot in Jack’s own chest and Jamie’s wide eyes as he turned first to Jack and then his mother helped. She smiled and nodded at her son and Jamie’s smile grew even more. “So you should make sure to do that,” Jack added, “And, who knows? If you like hockey enough and play hard enough, maybe one day I’ll see you on the ice, eh?”

Jamie’s jaw dropped and Jack chuckled at his squeaked, “Really?”

“Why not?” he shrugged before noticing the lighting sky and adding, “Do you want a picture before you go?”

A glance behind Jamie showed his mother already pulling her phone out even before Jamie had nodded. She smiled and Jack thought he caught a sniffle from her as she held up the phone.

Jack wrapped an arm around Jamie and smiled. In the pre-dawn light, a camera flash blinded the both of them.

**24 hrs <3  
Bitty**

**20 hours**

**16 hrs  
** **cant wait  
Kenny**

**1w jazz  
** **hrs  
** **1w  
** **12  
** **Stupid autopsies  
** **autocorrect  
Bitty**

**8 hours  
Bitty, I’ll see you in 45 minutes**

The shutter was loud in the rink, crisp air carrying sounds further than outside and echoing off the rink’s walls as Kent blinked off the after effects of the flash.

“Thank you so much for the quick interview, Mr. Parson,” the reporter said with a smile and a quick handshake before he and his photographer walked off with one of the PR assistants Kent sometimes saw around but rarely interacted with.

“Thanks, Kent. Glad I could catch you before practice.”

Kent turned a put-upon stare at the woman who had hung back. “Really, Barbara?” he whined, “Random interviews at 7am are not how I want to start my day.”

“We had the chance so I took it,” Barbara said matter-of-factly with a shake of her head and a hand on her hip, “You know my motto.”

“No sports news is bad news,” Kent repeated like a dirge before rolling his eyes.

“Got that right,” Barbara agreed before looking behind the captain where a few of the guys were chirping at Kent from the other side of the rink, “Looks like your team’s tired of waiting for you.”

“Fuckin’ Parser! Even when he shows up on time, he’s late!”

“The things I do for you,” Kent spoke as he eyed Barbara, skating backwards towards the group the whole time as Barbara laughed, waved and walked off.

Kent turned around to face the team. “Well maybe if the rest of you lazy fuckers would show up on time, I wouldn’t have to find something to do to cover your asses for Coach.”

“You’re not pretty enough to be a distraction, Parser,” Jeffries called out to the laughter of those around.

“Fuck you, Jeff,” Kent sniped back, “I’m gorgeous. Twitter agrees.”

“I’ll be a lot more interested in looking at any of you once you get your asses in gear,” their coach called as he took to the ice, as well, “Warm-ups. Now. Today feels like a good day for suicides.”

The team groaned. Kent grinned and saluted before taking the lead.

A handful of the team was out running passing and shooting drills along the ice when Jeff and Riddler took to either of Kent’s elbows.

“In a good mood today, eh, Parser?” Riddler asked with a grin that had Kent internally groaning when he turned to find a similar one on Jeff’s face.

“Had that fancy party last night, too, and, yet, behold, he arrives without coffee and with a smile to early morning skate,” Jeffries tacked on.

“I got a good night’s rest,” Kent argued before pointedly turning his attention to the ice, “unlike the rest of you sinners.”

The subsequent snort came in surround sound.

“As if you have any claim to sainthood,” Riddler shook his head.

“No, but I don’t have a toddler and a pregnant wife,” Kent shot back at the man who had near perpetual bags under his eyes as his wife drew closer and closer to her due date.

“Oh, c’mon,” Jeff rolled his eyes and elbowed at Kent’s arm, “did you meet her at the party? We know you don’t have a girl.” Kent frowned because how did you not take offense to a statement like that, but it was probably better than them finding out the truth before he was ready to tell it.

“I don’t know about that, Jeff,” Riddler smirked as he said, “Parser’s been staring at his phone a lot with a pretty stupid grin on his face for the past two weeks now.”

“If Parser had a girl, everyone would know he had a girl,” Jeff argued, “He’s probably just staring at pictures of his cat. He shares literally everything about her with social media.” Kent was about to say he was not that obsessed, but then realized he really did share everything on her Instagram, so he shrugged and nodded.

Jeff shook his head and scoffed at that before asking, “Do you even know what privacy is, Parse?”

“Kit isn’t too concerned about it,” he shot back because of course Kent knew how to keep secrets. His entire life he had been keeping secrets shared only when necessary and only with those most important. He was, admittedly, better at keeping other people’s secrets as a number of teammates, including Jeff, could attest–it was one of the ways he had made Captain, after all: by being a good person to talk to–but he had always kept his most important things close to his heart and his interactions with others much more superficial.

It kept things safe. Especially things that could risk his career. Or Jack’s career and anxiety. Or Bitty’s future prospects for his career. If this came out without the three of them being prepared for it, it would be rough but Kent could probably ride it out. His position with the Aces and in their record book would cover a fair amount of ground. Kent could not say the same for Jack and Bitty and he would do anything to protect them. To make up for the ways he had failed in the past.

A slap against his helmet and jerk of his head pulled him out of his thoughts as a thick accent spoke from behind him, “I guess not so much problem when have no shame, yes?”

Kent groaned and readjusted his helmet and straps. “You, too, Timmy? Really?” he asked in disbelief at the betrayal though the subsequent chuckle showed he was enjoying the ragging.

“Okay, but how would he have met her at the party?” Riddler asked next, “Parser’s got no game.”

“I do too have game!”

“No way he could pick up at that kind of event,” Riddler continued his question to Jeff without paying Kent’s interjection any heed. Jeff and Timmy both nodded their heads before humming in deep thought.

“Fuck all of you,” Kent said through laughter, making eye contact with Riddler and Jeff and jabbing his elbow back at Timmy who still stood behind him.

“Maybe his hand flipped the pillow to yes,” Jeff offered and the rest of the team that had been listening in even laughed at that one until Coach’s whistle broke through.

“Parson, Jeffries, Riddle, Koskinen!” the call came and every one of them straightened up and attended to the call, easy laughter turning into serious frowns. “If you have that much free time,” Coach continued with a wave of his arm, “get on the ice! If you can’t manage two goals this round, you’re staying late. I’ve got nowhere to be today.”

“You’re the assholes that started it,” Kent pointed out as the other three groaned at their coach’s threat, taking to the ice and warily eyeing the threatening glint in each of their goalies’ eyes. Kent also laughed in their faces when, on the very first run, he sank the puck in glove side.

It was a promising sign for a day that would likely only get better and Kent would have skipped if he were the type to do so anymore as skate came to a close and Koskinen and Jeffries remained on the ice, running drills under Coach’s careful eye.

“Captains go down with their ship, Parser!” Jeff cried and Kent turned around long enough to wink and salute the man.

“Sorry boys,” he explained with a dismissive wave and a shit-eating grin he knew would bait a response from Jeff at least, “Got somewhere to be today.”

“You don’t have jack shit to do today!” the man shouted as he flipped Kent the bird.

“Hot date,” Kent admitted with a waggle of his eyebrows, “No time to dawdle.”

“Fuck you!” Timmy shouted from Jeff’s side, “Only girl in your life is Kit.”

“What can I say,” Kent shrugged, his grin returning as he admitted the truth to Timmy’s chirp, “I’m a one-woman kinda guy.” He just happened to also have two very important guys on their way to Vegas as he spoke. “Have fun with Coach.”

With a shout from Coach to join them on the ice or get out, Kent gave a final parting wave before hitting the locker room, digging his phone out of his bag even while the rest were jumping for the best showers, to type out a quick text. He scrolled up to read through the last few messages until Riddler smacked him with his towel to tell him he had that stupid smile on his face again.

“Tell us when you’re ready, man. It’s just good to see you so happy.”

**24 hrs <3  
B<3**

**20 hours  
Z <3**

**16 hrs  
cant wait**

**1w jazz  
** **hrs  
** **1w  
** **12  
** **Stupid autopsies  
** **Autocorrect  
B <3**

**8 hours  
** **Bitty, I’ll see you in 45 minutes  
Z <3**

**Waiting out front.  
** **Have a good skate, hon.  
B <3**

**Boarding the plane. CU in a  
** **few hours <3<3<3 xoxoxo  
B<3**

**4 hrs left  
meet u @ baggage claim**

**Plane’s down! Taxiing now.  
** **Almost there. I wanna kiss u both so much TAT  
B <3**

**in baggage claim  
at least i live close???**

**Disembarking now.  
Z <3**

**a cap and sunglasses cant  
hide that famous ass zimms**

**Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease  
These boys. U‿U

**Author's Note:**

> You can reblog this work [HERE](http://pbj-epifest.tumblr.com/post/154612083404/fic-sing-you-a-happy-tune) from the pbj-epifest tumblr page!


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